


Anakin Skywalker x Reader Whump

by kkismygod



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angry Anakin, F/M, Fluff, Protective Anakin, Soft Anakin, Star Wars whump, Whump, Whump and fluff, Worried Anakin, but not like... angry angry you know?, cuts and bruises, injured reader, just a soft fluffy worried boy, like a concerned angry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:33:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25142443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kkismygod/pseuds/kkismygod
Summary: As requested: Reader comes home from a mission all bruised and cut up, Anakin takes care of her. Also, there’s jelly toast :)
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 126





	Anakin Skywalker x Reader Whump

**Author's Note:**

> This was requested from a friend on Tumblr. Go follow me there (@ChokeMeAnakin) to see all my writing and to request stuff! <3 
> 
> Ps. Extra kisses for those who leave kudos and comments 😘

Reporting back to the Council directly after your mission to the Vagaba System was hell. Your sides ached with every breath you took, legs barely able to lift from the floor in order to walk. Not to mention your clothes were wet and sticking to you in odd places, probably blood but you weren’t too sure. The constant pain hammering through your body with every move you made overshadowed every other thought you had.

Of course, Yoda and Master Windu picked up on your troubles almost immediately. They urged you to go to the medbay, but you were an avid ‘deal-with-it-yourself’ type of person. You weren’t hurt too bad anyway, a couple of bruises weren’t going to kill you. The injured soldiers from your mission needed all the help they could get without you taking up time and resources begging the medics for an ice pack. 

You knew Anakin would be pissed if he found out you’d skipped on getting help again, especially after last time when you almost passed out from blood loss after a bomb sent shrapnel straight into your face. Although you had completely healed from that— thanks to the remarkably advanced technology of Coruscant’s medical system— he hadn’t forgotten the way you dragged blood through the temple halls as he whisked you away to get help. He made you promise to ask for assistance if you ever got hurt again, and you had begrudgingly agreed... 

But to the degree of your injuries, he had not specified. 

That’s why you found yourself shuffling down the halls of the Jedi temple now, on your way to the room the Council allowed you to occupy, trying to get your aches and pains under control so you could act okay in front of Anakin. You knew he’d be waiting for you, as he always did when you came back from missions. But it was late, and if you were lucky maybe he’d already be asleep, and you would be allowed to fix yourself up without him ever having to find out...

Wishful thinking, you groaned inwardly, forcing yourself to stand up straight as Anakin opened the door before you could even touch the keypad.

And oh, was he mad.

“What’s wrong?” he demanded. 

“Nothing’s wrong,” you narrowed your eyes.

Damn, it was good to see him. Even with that pissed off look on his face, he looked as good as ever dressed in those loose pants he wore to bed, with nothing else but a robe on, left untied to expose his toned abdomen, hair perfectly messed up, metal arm glinting in the soft orange light... 

Side-stepping him to get into the apartment, you ignored the daggers he was sending your way and headed for the couch so you could take off your stiff, uncomfortable boots. Anakin folded his arms across his chest and followed your movements with a cruel, calculating gaze.

“You’re limping.”

“I’m just a little sore,” you rolled your shoulder.

“There’s blood on your shirt.” 

“It’s not mine.”

Thank god the fabric was thick enough to conceal the worst of the damage. You could feel the warm liquid drip down your skin in some places, although it had slowed considerably since you’d received them after getting the crab beat out of you by Mon Eila, a Separatist General with a passion for boxing. 

It had been a small mercy he had managed to avoid hitting your face. 

“Y/n,” Anakin stalked over to stand right in front of you. Usually his angry face scared you, but right now you knew it was just to cover up the concern he felt. “I can sense you’re pain. Tell me where you’re injured.”

You rolled your eyes, yanking off your boots one after the other and tossing them over the back of the couch unceremoniously. “Is it too much to believe I could get away from a mission unscathed for once?” 

“Seeing as how you couldn’t even water your houseplant without slipping on a puddle and spraining your ankle, yeah, I find it pretty hard to believe.”

You frowned and leaned back into the couch, hissing inwardly at the pain it sent through your bones. “I find that pretty sexist, and I request you make me some peanut butter toast to make it up to me.”

Anakin grabbed for the cloak you still had draped around your shoulders, meaning to move it so he could see some evidence of your injuries. You caught his wrist, and although he could have overpowered you, he let you stop him.

“Oh my god, it’s not like the Mighty Galactic Jedi Council chose me out of the hundreds of other trained assassins to do their bidding, it’s not like they trust me to carry out missions for them alongside the rest of the Jedi, it’s not like I’m the one who blew up that weapons factory and freed the planet of Koiwishi from the Separatist fleet trying to enslave them—“

“Okay, okay,” Anakin pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers and sighed heavily. “I’m sorry for doubting your skills, that’s not what I meant.”

“Good,” you grabbed for the tv remote and flipped it on solely for a distraction. “Then go make me some toast and I’ll think about forgiving you.”

Anakin flattened his stare and shook his head all the way to the kitchen. “Since when did you get so bold?” 

You pretended not to hear him, and instead took the moment of privacy you had to slowly lift up the bottom of your shirt to assess some of the damage. Blue and purple painted your abdomen in angry, swirling blossoms, only interrupted by the streaks of drying blood from the places your skin broke. Mon Eila was pretty nifty with a dagger too, you remembered, and he’d managed to catch you a couple times with the blade. Once on the side, and once on your thigh. Now that’s one you weren’t excited to see. 

You ghosted your finger over a particularly bad bruise over your rib cage, where the blood pooled an angry red underneath your skin. You knew you’d been hit quite a few times, but god damn you didn’t think it’d be this bad... 

“Hey, we’re out of peanut butter, is it okay if I use jelly instead—“ Anakin stopped dead in his tracks. 

“It’s not that bad,” you swallowed quickly. Your shirt remained half up after your failed attempt to rip it down as he walked in from the kitchen, the blueish-purple skin looking worse and worse as the seconds ticked by and Anakin did not say anything. “It doesn’t even really hurt that much.” 

Anakin stayed silent and turned on his heel to walk back into the kitchen. He returned a moment later with various bags of ice and a first aid kit.

“Lay on your back. Now.”

Well when he says it like that...

You did as told and had the decency to look a little ashamed. Resting your head on the armrest, you let him push your shirt up to reveal the patchwork of bruises staining your skin. His eyes flit from place to place, taking it all in while stewing in silent anger.

“I’m fine, Ani,” you tried to defuse the situation, reaching for an ice bag and placing it on your stomach to hide your injuries. “Look, that’s about as much as you can do about it anyways.”

“You’re bleeding,” Anakin’s fingertips traced the open wound beneath your ribcage. “Stay still.”

You folded your hands over your chest and stuck your bottom lip out thoughtfully as you felt Anakin clean your cut with an alcohol cloth. It stung, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you were in pain.

“I would never be satisfied knowing you’re in pain.”

“Stay out of my head, Skywalker,” You searched for the bracelet he had gifted you early on in your relationship, the one that could shield your thoughts from any Jedi mind tricks. Your eyes landed on it across the room, by the windowsill. You didn’t know when, but at some point he must have been able to slip it off without you noticing. 

“Well since you think it’s okay to lie to me, I thought I’d have to take matters into my own hands.” 

He spread antibacterial ointment over the cut and then pressed a bandage over the wound. You took the ice off and dropped it to the floor, wincing as you pushed yourself into a sitting position with your elbows. Anakin pushed you back down to the couch gently by the shoulder. 

“I’ll get you your bracelet in a moment,” his tone softened, reading the distress in your mood as clear as day now that your thoughts were wide open to him. “Let me just take a look at your leg first.” 

“It’s not fair. You said that if I can’t read your thoughts, you shouldn’t be able to read mine.”

“I’m sorry, Y/n,” Anakin placed the bag of ice back on your bruised abdomen. “I just don’t know why you had to lie to me in the first place.”

You didn’t know how to put it into words, how to explain to him your insecurities around asking for help. If you admitted you needed assistance for something as simple as a couple scratches, it made you feel weak— like a useless, vulnerable excuse of a person. It was especially embarrassing needing help from Anakin Skywalker himself, The Chosen One, the Hero With No Fear, famed General of the Clone Wars, who literally got his arm cut off after escaping an execution at the hands of a Sith Lord that one time. You didn’t see him asking for help then— granted he had passed out, but still. 

Showing weakness, especially in front of the people you loved, was a feeling you have been running from your entire life.

One look at Anakin’s face, and you knew you didn’t have to say anything in order for him to understand. He closed his eyes and leaned down to press his lips to the exposed skin of your hip. His touch was feather-light, barely brushing you as to not disturb the bruise underneath. 

“You don’t need to prove anything to me,” he muttered against your skin. “You’re already the strongest person I know.”

“I will be, once I can sit up without wanting to die,” you shifted your body, gasping and halting your movements when a piercing pain shot through your ribs. This made Anakin’s eyebrows draw down in concern, warm palm holding your waist to stop you from moving.

“I thought you said it didn’t hurt much.” 

“You should know by now I was lying about that too.” 

Anakin took a deep breath and opened a pill bottle. He dropped a couple tablets into your hand and then passed you a cup full of water. 

“You think you can lift your hips for a couple seconds so I can get your pants off?” He paused at your thoughts. “For your open wound, not that.” 

“See, it’s not fair! I couldn’t control that one, it just popped into my head.” You huffed but shifted your hips upward like he asked, abs screaming in protest. He managed to sneak his fingers beneath the waistband and tug your pants down your legs before you dropped back to the couch, hissing in pain.

“Damn, he got you good,” Anakin thought aloud, already wetting the cloth with more alcohol. “This might sting.”

‘Might’ was putting it lightly. A slurry of curse words filled your head as he dabbed at the gash on your leg, spanning from your hip to your upper thigh area. It was deep enough to scar, bubbling and oozing fresh blood as Anakin tried his best to clean it out. Even his cheeks turned pink from your colorful choice of words.

“Stitches?” You forced through grit teeth, nails digging into the couch cushion. 

He dabbed at it some more, pondering your question. “I think you got lucky with this one. If it doesn’t start healing in a couple days, we’ll take you to the medbay.”

“Fantastic,” You wheezed, wanting so bad to kick your leg out and escape the terrible stinging. Anakin’s grip on your leg tightened, knowing exactly what your intentions were.

“There, all done,” he discarded the cloth and got to work soothing the cut with some ointment. He finished off by smoothing a large bandage over it, sitting back once it was all over. “Now how’s the bruising doing?”

Your head lolled to the side, exhausted from being in so much pain. “Still bruised,” you muttered. In fact, the ice was starting to melt and your skin was becoming uncomfortably numb and red. You took the ice off, wincing at the gruesome sight of your body again, and pulled your shirt down to cover it. “I think I’m ready to just sleep for the next 10 years.”

“Here,” Anakin slipped his hands beneath your legs and your back. With a grace only taught to the Jedi, he lifted you into his arms doing his best not to jostle you around, carrying you towards your bedroom. “You still hungry?”

You gave him a thin smile, all the answer he needed. He kissed your head as he set you down carefully onto the bed, pulling the blankets up over you. Before he left, he slipped something over your wrist— the bracelet. 

The pills Anakin gave you must have included a sleep-inducing one. You were glad for the bracelet, as you made a mental note to kick his ass later for drugging you— but then again, it was doing a phenomenal job of taking your pain away now. You barely managed to stay awake before Anakin came back into the room, bearing gifts.

Jelly toast had never tasted better. 

He sat beside you on the bed as you ate, carding his fingers through your hair and playing with the baby hairs surrounding your forehead. His fingertips tickled your skin, warm and soft, lulling you to sleep even further. You ended up falling asleep with half a slice of toast left in your hands. Anakin smiled softly and put it on the bedside table for when you woke up, switching off the lights with the force so you could get some good rest.


End file.
